


Through Heaven's Eyes

by Obstinate Nocturna (ChrisCrossed)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Other, Sights on Heaven, also I know this is tagged as a present for fi, and a lot of gratuitous smut, but it's also for myself, expect a lot of gratuitous fluff, it's homestuck day, none of this is canon unless fi says so, so I'm being self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCrossed/pseuds/Obstinate%20Nocturna
Summary: A self-indulgent gift for the Unholy Squirrel King on this, the day of the Homestucks. Just a gathering of OTP ficlets that I've written in inspired moments when I decide to torture myself in the wonderful Homestuck AUs Fi has written.All fics are set in the lovely temporaldecay's Distrait Life of Mistakes/Sights on Heaven verses, so if you haven't read those, you'll probably not have a clue what's going on. Also, they're fantastic, go read them.





	1. Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [temporalDecay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalDecay/gifts).



> I was going to do this anyway, but now I can say I'm doing it to counteract the coming pain of the Heaven spoilers Fi just posted XD

You sigh, crossing your arms and tapping your fingers on your bicep impatiently as you wait in what is possibly the nicest office you’ve ever been forced to wait in during all your time as an Acolyte. It’s been a while, but you still remember how this works: you wait around until they decide who drew the short straw of having to deal with the Subjugglator, in this case, in lieu of Lord Imoogi.

...you _hope_ in lieu of Lord Imoogi, at least. It’s bad enough you’re on the fucking _Deathfowl_ \- personally assigned to the motherfucking Dragon of the Fringe’s ship by the Grand Highblood himself- you seriously don’t know if you could handle being face to face with Lord Imoogi right now.

The door opens behind you, and you find yourself thinking _’Fucking finally,’_ as you stand and start to turn around (which, okay, is a little bit on the petty side of mean; you know you’re scary enough without putting the grand total of your height, now a whopping almost ten feet after that last growth spurt, to your advantage, but. Well. Petty, it is you)- 

-and you freeze, rooted to the spot as you stare at the face of the troll who just walked in. Your first thought, reasonably, is that you can NOT possibly be old enough to be running into your dead flush crush’s Descendant, you _are not_. The second is that you have done something _most unmirthful_ for the Messiah’s to be throwing this kind of punishment at you.

But then you look up, and there is not enough coincidence in the damn universe that would account for a Descendant managing to break the exact same horn in the exact same way- and oh, you know that break, you know it well, you used to have some admittedly embarrassingly wigglerish pity fantasies about getting to touch those horns, especially the broken one because your pan is a strange place you would not oft venture into had you a choice- and you realize that yes, you are in fact staring at Equius Zahhak, the one and only.

Your thinkpan takes this as a good time to remind you of the flush crush you had on the blueblood standing in front of you, and the fact that you never actually got over it. Swallowing, you let out a tentative, “Captain Zahhak?” And, fuck your life, you can feel yourself actually starting to smile.

“ _Criina_?” He responds, sounding just as stunned as you feel. You… will probably go over the implications that he remembers your name after several centuries later, but at the moment you are busy being entirely unprofessional in any and every sense of the word as you launch yourself at the troll you thought was _dead_ , had died with the rest of the _Morrigan_ (with _Roz_ \-- no, you promised yourself you weren’t going to go there anymore, happy memories only of your moirail); he is satisfyingly solid, enough to prove to you that this isn’t some delusion or fucked up sleep fantasy of your ‘pan --

And then he _hugs you back_ , hesitating and awkward and barely even a real hug and you have to stop and reassess your previous conclusion because. This is just. Too much of a coincidence.

You aren’t sure which of you steps back first or if you do it at the same time but you wind up staring at each other (and he’s STILL fucking taller than you, the fuck does he eat).

“How --” you both start at the same time, then stop. You laugh, and you think there might be a twitch of one of the corners of Equius’ mouth that might be a smile or a frown, you couldn’t ever really tell. He’s still just as voodoo proof as he ever was, so that’s no help either.

“I, uh. I wasn’t on the M - the _Morrigan_ ,” you politely pretend not to see Equius flinch, as he probably more politely excuses your tongue tripping over itself, “When… I’d gone back to the Church for Rites, and when they were done -- they told me I was getting reassigned. Didn’t find out until a couple days later what had happened.” And you’d been bouncing around between ships since then, never staying on any as long as you had the _Morrigan_ , “Anyway, um, enough about that, I take it you’re the one who’s supposed to be handling me?” You regret your choice of words as soon as their leave your squawkblister, and close your eyes, counting to ten to get through the mortification, “Er, my paperwork, and all the official stuff, I mean.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, and you open your eyes to see him around his desk and damn he moves quietly for a big motherfucker, “Presuming that the Highblood actually _bothered_ with any,” he mutters under his breath.

You snicker, taking a seat across from him, “Yeah, well. Subjugglators. We ain’t exactly known for our _paperwork_ handling skills.”

“Yes, as I seem to recall,” Equius deadpans, looking over at you and…

Is he.

Is he fucking _teasing_ you?!

“Hey, that was NOT my fault, Syzygy had it out for me,” you defend, then frown when you hear an odd, wet noise from somewhere above your head.

Equius is glaring at one of the vents when you turn back around, and flushes slightly when you notice, “Yes, well… given Makara’s tendencies, I think I’d be better off handling this myself. So. Shall we?”

You smile and lean back in your chair. This might not be so terrible after all, “By all means.”


	2. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important Relationship Steps: Subjuggulator Style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time shenanigans ahoy! The chapters will skip around a bit by virtue of a) I wrote these at very different times for very different reasons and I can't be bothered to wait for my muse to decide to finish up the in between-y bits and b) it wouldn't be Homestuck without time shenanigans.
> 
> Also, yes, more fluff. The fic will earn its explicit rating in due time, I just... sorta need to write the rest of the smut scenes. Look just enjoy the fluffy antithesis to Fi's Heaven spoilers okay?

Your name is Criina Pahnik, and you can do this. Or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself, even as your hands tremble where they’re clutching the sink. It’s Equius, you tell your bare faced reflection in the mirror, it’s just Equius. The troll you’ve been and are still almost painfully flushed for and that you, more importantly, _trust_.

You want to do this.

It’s just that the number of trolls that you’ve let see you without your facepaint on can be counted on one hand; and out of all of them, you think only one really _understood_ how big of a deal it was for you, and that’s just because Darvik was a Subjugglator himself. And you don’t resent any of your quadrants for that (well, maybe Neptun, but you resent Neptun for a _lot_ of things), you really don’t. 

Lyadra knew you before you’d even really knew what the Subjugglators were. She knew you before the Cult and before you even _had_ your paints. You think, maybe, Lya would have _never_ understood- you don’t think she ever got over the sight of you sliced open by your lusus’s attempt to save your life and bleeding all over your hive floor after your voodoos manifested and you… didn’t handle it well. You know she never liked the Cult, and she always preferred your paints off when you were together.

Neptun- you prefer not to think about Neptun. At all. Ever. But you know he didn’t try to understand or even respect your religion, and certainly not your paint.

Rozlyn… Roz knew that it was important to you, and that made it important to her, but she never really knew _why_. Which was partly on you, because you never really tried to explain it, because she never tried to push you about it. You are, admittedly, doing something rather similar with Murray, read: avoiding the whole conversation. 

But Equius… Equius is different. He’s- he’s not old, really, but he’s older than you and traditional as fuck. He’ll know what this means, why this is so important to you. Which is maybe one of the reasons you’re so nervous about this. You’ve never been this nervous- not that you can remember, at least, it’s been… a very long time since Darvik and Roz, and Murray is- well, Murray, and after he fucking climbed you like a tree to pap you in the middle of the cafeteria, you kind of threw out any of your traditional expectations of a moiraillegance with him.

The knock on your door startles you into jumping, even expecting it as you are, and you laugh at yourself and at your _ridiculously polite matesprit_ who still knocks on your door to be invited in like the oldest rainbowdrinker stereotype, like he doesn’t know the code to let himself in or has a standing invitation. “It’s open, you dork!” You yell. “Don’t know why you bother knocking, you know the code,” you continue, as you hear the door open and close.

“I also respect your privacy beloved.” Equius calls back, a subtle lilt to his voice telling you he’s rolling his eyes and trying not to smile, and ah, _there’s_ the flutterbeasts that make themselves at home in your stomach whenever Equius is around, you were _wondering_ where they’d gotten off to. “Is there anything specific you wanted to do tonight?” 

You can tell by the way he asks that he _does_ have something in mind, and you almost feel bad for derailing his plans- of course, you could always put your paints back on and-

No. No, you’re doing this _now_ before you can change your mind and put it off for Messiah’s know how long _again_. You take a deep breath and step out of your bathroom into the main part of your block. “Actually, I was thinking maybe we could just stay in tonight?”

“That’s an unusual request from you. Are you feeling-” Equius turns away from examining your newest painting, and whatever else he was going to say dies away with a soft, “Oh.”

You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze, painfully aware of every drop of blood rushing to your face and that you have no way to hide it. “Are you going to say something or just stare?” You mutter as you duck your head, half-wishing that you’d remembered to unbraid your hair so you could at least hide behind _that_. You’re aware of Equius moving- if only because you’re looking at the floor and can see his legs come into your field of view, and his hand comes up to touch your cheek (and you do _not_ shiver because you are not a wiggler nor the protagonist of one of those cheap romance novels Roz liked to read) and lifts your head up.

The look he’s giving you- and whoops where did his sunglasses go- is nearly _reverent_ , and you’re pretty sure any blood you didn’t have in your face is there now. “Beautiful,” He murmurs, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone. 

“It’s just paint, it doesn’t make me look that much different.” You mutter, almost petulant because your face feels like it’s burning, which is a strange sensation given you’re so coldblooded you almost have gills.

Equius chuckles a little. “You are always beautiful, Criina,” He tells you, leaning in to kiss you. “Thank you, beloved.” He murmurs against your mouth. 

You bury your face in his chest to hide the grin on your face. Equius retaliates by pressing a kiss to the top of your head (you might knock him with your horns a little because you’re a brat like that, and it’s not like it’s going to hurt him), and then _picking you up and carrying you over to the couch_. “Equius!”

“Well I assume you did not wish to spend our entire night in standing in the middle of your block,” He says innocently.

“You’re an ass, you are such an ass how does anyone put up with you,” You tell him, but you’re laughing and reaching up to pull his face down to yours to kiss him some more. 

Your name is Criina Pahnik and you are so fucking in love with your matesprit. 


	3. Just like a tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Nocturna Regrets Putting in Pesterlogs (or How to do relationships, Subjugglator style, part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I legitimately can't figure out how to color code the pesterlogs, if I ever manage it I'll go back and fix 'em, sorry guys oxo

You swear still feel phantom needles in your skin as you navigate the halls of the _Deathfowl_ to Equius’s block- though that may just be your nerves manifesting in new and interesting ways to annoy you. It wasn’t often you got the chance to surprise Equius, though, and you were a little excited. You pull out your palmhusk, feeling sneaky as you opened your Trollian app and thankfully saw Equius’s name lit up in blue.

**amethystUprising [AU] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]**

**AU: _\ | /_ Hey you <3**

**CT: D-- > Hello Criina**

**CT: D-- > <3**

**CT: D-- > How have you been?**

**AU: _\ | /_ Missing you terribly, but that’s old news.**

**CT: D-- > I miss you as well.**

**CT: D-- > When do you return to the Deathfowl again?**

**AU: _\ | /_ Another week, give or take.**

**AU: _\ | /_ You know how**

**AU: _\ | /_ Erratic things can get over here**

**CT: D-- > Not personally, but, yes.**

**AU: _\ | /_ Don’t sass me mister );P**

**CT: D-- > My apologies, beloved.**

**AU: _\ | /_ You’re not sorry at all, don’t lie to me.**

**CT: D-- > I assure you I am the very model of contrition.**

**AU: _\ | /_ Liiiieeees I can almost see you trying not to smirk at me.**

**CT: D-- > I would never.**

**AU: _\ | /_ Yeah yeah**

**AU: _\ | /_ What are you up to?**

**AU: _\ | /_ Not interrupting you working am I?**

**CT: D-- > I would not be so quick to answer if you were, Criina.**

**CT: D-- > Although I am going over a few things for Lord Imoogi, I am off shift and in my quarters.**

**AU: _\ | /_ Well that makes things easier.**

**CT: D-- > Criina?**

You don’t send a response, putting your palmhusk to sleep as you put the unlock code for Equius’s door into the panel. “Surprise.”

Equius is on his feet so fast that his laptop falls to the floor- whoops. Oh well, it’s reinforced for him anyway and you don’t really have a chance to feel sorry for a piece of technology before your matesprit has closed the distance between the couch and the door and swept you up into a kiss that has you squeaking and clinging to his shoulders.

“Well hello to you too, handsome.” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“What are you doing here, I thought you said you wouldn’t be back for a week.” Equius is obviously trying to chastise you, but it comes out too happy to make you feel bad.

“I may have lied,” You admit, apologetic anyway, “I wanted to surprise you. Forgive me?”

Equius kisses you again, and you feel the low chuckle in the back of his throat more than hear it. “You are certainly the best surprise I could have asked for tonight, beloved, of course I forgive you.”

You’re practically purring as you kiss Equius again- and again, and again (you may have been back a week earlier than he expected but you’d still been gone for a _while_ ) before you remember that there was something you’d planned to do tonight other than get re-acquainted with all your favorite parts of your matesprit. “Actually,” you say, once you manage to stop making out with Equius long enough to get a word in, “I’m not the only surprise.”

“Oh?” Equius asks, curious, as he sets you back on your feet.

“Mm hmm.” You push Equius gently backward, toward the couch. “Sit. Stay.”

“Are you going to order me to heel next?” Equius asks you dryly, but there’s a barely there undertone to his voice that belies his usual deadpan.

“Only if you behave.” You tell him, smiling as he flushes and swallows- you try not to feel smug. “Now, close your eyes, and keep them closed.” Your request gets you a raised eyebrow and an odd look from Equius, but he humors you nonetheless and closes them. 

...you can’t help yourself, you sneak over and kiss him again, too quick for him to respond before you’re hopping backward out of reach, giggling.

“Criina-” he says, starting to rise up after you.

“Ah-ah, what’d I say?”

Equius hesitates, and you can practically see the internal debate over whether to obey you or not. You’re seriously contemplating whether or not you’re going to have to tie him down and blindfold him- and that’s not really the direction you were planning on taking things tonight, but hey, your plans are flexible- when he sits back down.

“Good boy,” You praise, practically cooing, pretty much entirely to make him blush more.

Which, of course, he does. “Beloved, don’t tease, I implore you.”

You take pity on him, taking a few steps forward and tilting his face up toward you. Equius’s hands find your hips and settle there (well, they find your thighs and run up to your hips and _damn_ it has been a long few months but you won’t let him distract you). “Oh, don’t pout. This’ll only take a minute and you’ll like it, I promise.” You assure him, kissing his forehead. You hope he will, anyway.

Equius nuzzles up beneath your jaw, then sighs and sits back on the couch, his hands at his sides. You smile, stepping away. “Besides,” you add, after a moment, “We both know you like it when I tease you.” Equius makes a small noise that isn’t really a protest at that, and you giggle again before getting back to business.

Your nerves come back in full force as you sort through your sylladex for what you need; your fingers fumble on the keys a couple times and you briefly decaptchalogue some things you don’t mean to before hitting the right chord and getting your modus to spit out what you were looking for- a blacklight. You get it plugged in and turn it on, hitting the lights. Scripture lights up across your skin, as does your newest tattoo. You touch it, briefly, through your shirt, before reaching for the hem and pulling it over your head, dropping it to the floor. Your bra follows- as does a small sigh of relief.

“Okay, you can look now.” You tell Equius, biting your lip in anticipation.

Equius opens his eyes, and you can’t help a small laugh as he blinks owlishly, not expecting the blacklight. You can tell when he zeroes in on your newest tattoo by his sharp, surprised inhale- of course, it would be hard to miss seeing his own sign glowing brightly where it’s inked on your chest, directly over your heart. The silence in the block is so thick you can almost feel it pressing down on you, suffocating you; it’s finally broken by the sound of cloth rustling as Equius slowly stands, and even more slowly walks across the room to you, stopping an arm’s length away. “Criina- you-” His hand rose, stopping just short of his fingertips touching your skin. You can see him swallow, hard. “Why…?” 

“I just,” you hesitate, trying to figure out how to translate your feelings into words as your hand hovers next to his over the Sagittarius arrow glowing beneath his fingertips , “I never even hoped I’d find someone who makes me feel as good as just being around you does. You make me happy- happier than I ever thought I’d be. So- so even if this- if we end up not working- I want to remember. But fuck I hope we work because I’m pretty sure you’ve ruined me for any other red prospect I may get, because I am so flushed for you, Equius Zahhak, no one else would ever measure up.”

There’s another moment of that awful, suffocating silence before _you_ break it this time, with an embarrassing squeak of surprise as Equius’s arms go around you; the noise is muffled almost before it’s out of your mouth because Equius is kissing you, and does not seem inclined to let you go anytime soon.

Unfortunately, air is a thing that both of you still need, so eventually you do have to pull apart. You don’t go far, though, your fingers curled around the back of his neck and his forehead resting against yours.

“So,” You say, once you’ve gotten your breath back, “Good anniversary present?”

“More than I could have ever thought to ask for, beloved.” Equius tells you, a hand hovering over your tattoo. “Can I…?” 

You laugh a little. “Yeah, touch away, it’s all healed up.” 

As soon as you give him permission, Equius is tracing his fingers over the glowing ink, still looking at it in awe. You laugh a little at the intense look of concentration on his face at least until he bends down to press his mouth to it, following the path his finger just took with his lips, and you let out a little surprised gasp because the tattoo is apparently still more sensitive than you thought and because it feels… strange. Good, but strange, and your pan takes the moment to remind your body that it has been nearly _three months_ since you’ve seen your matesprit.

Your hand tightens in Equius’s hair and you pull his head back up so you can look at him. “Respiteblock.”

Equius swallows down what sounds like a whimper. “Yes,” He agrees, and you let go of his hair and take his hand instead as you pull him along behind you. You’re halfway across the block when Equius stops suddenly (and you have to stop, because Equius is stronger than you by… well, a lot, no matter how little he actually uses that to his advantage), and you watch, confused, as he turns around and walks back across the block- and then you laugh as he captchalogues the blacklight and sheepishly walks back over to you, and you take your hands in his and tug him along into the respiteblock.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, THERE'S that explicit rating.

“You’re so _pretty_ like this, Equius.” 

You feel yourself flush in embarrassment, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on your skin, as your matesprit purrs compliments at you. It’s hard to argue with her when she’s looking at you like she wants to devour you, like she means every word she’s saying and you’re starting to believe her at this point.

It’s also hard to argue when you’ve got a gag between your teeth, but that’s beside the point.

You’re chained to the platform, by devices of your own design; you flex your wrists again, as if you hadn’t already tested to make sure they would hold against you- not contain you, even your mechanical skills fall short when it comes to making something strong enough to keep you against your will, but strong enough to remind you that they’re there, and that you have _orders_ not to break them ( _some part of you urges you to do it anyway, the traitorous part of your brain that craves the punishments your beloved would heap on your unworthy flesh_ ). Criina kneels between your legs, keeping them spread, her hands resting casually on your thighs, rubbing teasing circles with her thumbs. You try to ignore the mottled bruising around her wrists where you’d held her down the last time you’d pailed her- half because it was her wriggling day and she’d asked you to, and half because she promised… well, _this_ later if you did.

“You good?” Criina asks you, head tilting. You nod- you are _more than_ \- and Criina smiles, pressing a kiss against your cheek, pressing the obnoxiously bright stress ball she’d given you as a joke, and then the two of you had repurposed for situations like this (you had tried a bell, once. You had wound up crushing it. The stress ball, at least, you know won’t crumple irreparably under your STRENGTH and was garish enough that Criina wouldn’t fail to notice if you dropped it) into your hand. Your claws dig into the foam, and you feel it tear slightly. Criina seems appeased, though, as she squeezes her hand over yours lightly before sitting back between your legs and looking you over appraisingly.

Your stomach, and perhaps something a bit lower, twists in anticipation as a pleased, almost predatory grin slowly spreads across her face. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Criina is relentlessly gentle with you, as her hands (and eventually mouth) wander across your prone form where she pleases, which seems to be everywhere except where you need her to most. The chain of the handcuffs rattles again and again and again as you reflexively reach for her, constantly thwarted by the restraints and your need to _obey_.

It's agonizing, not being able to touch her, or even debase yourself to beg for more. She’s unerringly patient as she reduces you to a complete mess with mere touches, playing you like the most salacious instrument imaginable, leaving you panting and whining through the gag. “Look at you,” Criina chuckles, grinning down at you, “Such a gorgeous mess for me.” 

You purr, arching shamelessly into her hands as she plays with your grubscars. _Anything for you_ , you think, almost deliriously; the words come out as a garbled mess through the gag. Your voice jumps an octave in an embarrassing squeak of surprise as fingers unexpectedly stroke the lips of your nook. Your bulge curls around Criina’s wrist before you can stop yourself, trying to urge the touch _inside_ , where you’ve want-needed it since almost before this exquisite torture began. Criina laughs, soft and warm and indulgent. “Getting desperate already?”

Your face burns, and you swallow around the gag, closing your eyes and pressing your hips up against her touch. You can almost see her grin through your eyelids. “Good boy.” Criina croons, and you feel her lean over you to press a kiss against your jaw, as you feel her fingers press into your nook- did she cut her claws? She cut her claws for you, you feel spoiled. You feel _special_ \- and spread. You shudder, hips rocking against her hand. 

“Making a mess all over me, Equius.” She murmurs, “Oughta make you clean it up.” You whimper- and then choke on the noise as your bulge, which had been curled around Criina’s wrist, had wriggled (more like been coaxed) into your nook alongside your matesprit’s fingers. “Ooh, I like that noise. Maybe I should just let you fuck yourself, you seem to be enjoying it.”

You whine, pleadingly, as Criina pulls her fingers out, letting your bulge wriggle deeper into your own nook, and for a moment you think she’s actually going to _make_ you- you can barely even _think it_ \- make you pail yourself, and you flush darker. “Shhh, easy,” she soothes you, grinning. Criina traces a finger down the curve of your bulge, tugging it out of where your nook is clenching around it, and you flush and groan and bite down on the bit so hard you’re sure _something_ is going to crack . “Ah ah ah, none of that,” She says, catching your jaw with her other hand, gentle. The same hand strokes across the side of your face and you turn, unthinkingly, into the touch, nuzzling into her palm as her fingers trace across the band of soft leather holding the bit around the back of your head. “Ready for more?”

Focusing past the feeling of Criina’s fingers rubbing the ridges of your bulge, you can feel something cool and slick wriggling between your legs. Genetic material leaks down your thighs as you make a pleading, eager noise.

“Then,” She said, kissing your hairline, and unclasps the bit at the same moment she pulls her hand away from your bulge, “Beg.”

You gasp, whining at the sudden loss of sensation, your nook clenching desperately, your bulge writhing in search of something- anything- to curl around or into; you are empty, bereft, and you submit to her whims with an eagerness that would embarrass you, were you in possession of all your cognitive functions. “A-ah, Criina- beloved- please- I need- pail me, please-”

Criina reaches beneath you to grab your rear (you squeak again) and _yank_ you down as far as the chain will let you go, drawing her hands over your thighs and rearranging them to settle over her own; this puts her bulge close enough to brush against the entrance of your nook, the tip dragging over your entrance teasingly. You’re sure you’d be impressed with her control if you weren’t almost painfully aroused and desperate for her, and you’ve lost any slack you had in the chains to try and rock your hips down, to urge her deeper. “Do what?”

It takes you a moment to fight through the fog of arousal in your pan and realize what she wants. “I-” You swallow; everything between your legs pulses with heat and indignity. “Beloved, please- _fuck me_.” 

You only catch a glimpse of the knife-sharp smile on your matesprit’s face before you’re tossing your head back with a warbling moan of relief as her bulge slides into you. The gentleness from earlier is gone, but even so, Criina moves her hips with such knowing grace you struggle to breathe. The breathless noises you make are practically feral, entirely undignified, and you don’t even try to hide them. You’re rewarded with a pleased sounding growl and Criina’s blunted claws digging into your hips slightly as her bulge curls and sends hot sparkles of pleasure up your spine.

You are so focused on the heady, intoxicating heat pulsing through your nook that you momentarily lose track of what your bulge is doing- at least until Criina lets out a warbling little gasp, back arching as her hips jerk against you, sending her bulge as deep in you as it can go. Not that you’re really paying attention to that, when what few neurons you have left are all devotedly focused on processing nothing that isn’t the cool slickness of your matesprit’s nook around your bulge. “Fuck, Equius-” Criina growls, fingers digging into one of your hips and the back of your thigh as she holds herself as close to you as she can physically get. The movements of her bulge are more erratic, now, even as it hits a spot that makes you gasp and moan and _arch_ , driving your bulge deeper into Criina.

Her nook clenches around you at the same moment her bulge hits that place inside your nook again, and you are _gone_ , the building pleasure exploding into a blind surge of ecstasy.

When you come back to yourself again, and colors stop swirling behind your eyelids, you can feel Criina pressing gentle kisses against your neck and jaw. You realize your hands have been freed, and use your newly restored range of movement to wrap your arms around the troll laying atop you. Criina props herself up on an elbow, reaching up and cupping your cheek with her free hand. “Welcome back. How you feeling?”

You reach up, covering her hand with your own as you press a kiss to her palm. “Excellent.” You tell her; your wrists are sore, you’ll have to look into padding the cuffs with something in case there is a next time (and _god_ do you hope there’s a next time), and everything in the general area of your pelvis is pleasantly numb. You swallow, clear your throat. “Was I- was that-”

“You were perfect, handsome.” Criina purrs, stretching up to kiss you, quick and soft and sweet. “You did so good, Equius. Absolute best.” 

Something warm and happy unfurls in your chest so quickly it threatens to burst out through your ribs, and you turn your face to hide what you’re sure is an awkward, dopey grin against Criina’s shoulder, nuzzling against her neck. She laughs, running her fingers through your sweat soaked hair. “You okay to move so we can clean up?” She asks, carefully untangling a snarl she runs across. “Or do you want to stay here?”

“I believe,” You say after a moment of contemplation, “I would very much enjoy a bath.”

“Bath it is then.” She says, pulling your head back so she can press a kiss against your nose, of all places, before carefully climbing off of you and standing (and you try very hard to pretend you aren’t looking at the mess of blue and purple spattered between her thighs and across her groin). She helps you up, stealing another kiss once you have your legs under you- and another, and another.

It takes you a bit to actually get to the bathroom. 

It takes you longer to leave it ( _you only offered to help clean up the mess you made; Criina riding your fingers to a second completion- and then your bulge through a third- was an_ entirely _unintended outcome of your helpfulness_ ). 

Neither of you bother with clothes once you’re clean ( _after bath number two_ ); you’re both sated and sleepy and drip all over the floor of your respite block on your way to your recuperacoon. Criina curls against your side in the sopor, close enough that you can feel more than hear the soft, thrumming purr she’s making. “Flushed for you Equius.” She murmurs against your throat, already halfway gone.

“Flushed for you as well, Criina.” You return, pressing a kiss against her forehead and closing your eyes to follow her into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request is made. It is... not handled gracefully.

“You want me to _what_?’

You regret your choice of words immediately after they leave your mouth, because Equius’s entire posture changes to something reminiscent of a kicked baby woofbeast. “No, hey, fuck, I’m sorry, my mouth got ahead of my pan, c’mere.”

Equius does, because he’s Equius, but he still has the kicked, wary look on his face- and it never ceases to amaze you that your twelve foot mountain of muscle has some of the most effective motherfucking sad eyes you’ve ever had turned on you- as he sits next to you and lets you crawl into his lap. “Okay, so, because I just got off shift and I’m exhausted and grumpy, I am going to apologize- again- and ask you to repeat what you just said.”

That, at least, gets you a chuckle (which is 100 times better than pouty Equius, so you’ll count it as a win). “Lord Imoogi,” Equius says, with a tone that you’re fairly certain is the same one you get when you talk about the Grand Highblood, “Has decided to host a… soirée on the _Deathfowl_. I am obliged to go, and I wondered if you might accompany me.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought you said.” You mutter, vaguely wondering how you went from complaining about your shift to being asked to accompany your matesprit to one of Lord Imoogi’s parties.

“Beloved, if you do not wish to attend-” The disappointment in Equius’s voice is palpable, even if he’s trying to hide it.

“It’s not that.” You cut him off. “It’s not, just-” You sigh, and not for the first time vaguely find yourself wishing you weren’t, well, _you_ because this would be so much easier, on both of you. “You’re asking me to go to a party that’s going to have the most powerful people in the Fringe coming to it, and I’m- I’m _me_.”

“I am aware, Criina, of the fact that you are, in fact, you.” Equius says, smiling wryly. “I’m quite fond of that fact.”

You pinch him, because that wasn’t what you were getting at and he knows it. “What I _mean_ is I’m- I’m just a Subjugglator, Equius. I don’t know the first fucking thing about seadweller politics or fashion or whatever else they care about. I don’t wanna embarrass you.” You mumble, picking at loose thread on your gauntlets and refusing to look at him.

Equius hooks a finger under your chin, raising your face to his and kissing you. “You are not,” He enunciates, hand still holding your gaze up, “An embarrassment to me, beloved, you are my matesprit. If you do not wish to attend, I will not force the issue. I just wished to make it clear where my heart belongs.”

Oh. Oh, wow, you are a daft fucker sometimes, you tell yourself as heat rushes to your face. Part of you still balks at the idea of getting fancied up just to put up with a bunch of stuffy seadwellers for an entire night, but it’s a much smaller part than before, drowned out by the pure, flushed warmth of the fact that Equius wants to let the entire power chain of the Fringe know he’s yours. “I _guess_ I could come. Wouldn’t want those stuck up Lords getting any ideas about my matesprit.” You say, trying to sound incredibly put out by the idea. 

Equius _smiles_ \- like actually smiles, you feel yourself swoon a little- and reaches up to cup your face, pulling you in for another kiss. “I feel the only ideas anyone will be getting about me are thoughts of jealousy, for having the most beautiful troll in the room on my arm.”

You face feels hot enough to melt your face paint off, fucking hell. You need warning before Equius breaks out lines like that. “Flatterer.”

“Never, beloved, I only speak the truth.” 

You shove at him, but you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Go to shift, you useless romantic.” He goes, but not until you’ve gotten a few more kisses out of him and he’s risking being late. You flop back against the couch, still grinning.

...huh. You guess you need to go dress shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, look, see, I wasn't bullshitting you guys about Garfit being in here, they were mentioned!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some trolls are not evening people. Some are. It is unfortunate when two of them are sleeping together, because someone is going to wind up not happy.

You’ve never really been an evening troll, not really, and especially not when you don’t have a shift coming up to be awake for. 

Certain other trolls do not share this sentiment, unfortunately.

A warm hand slides up your hip, slick with sopor. “Criina, beloved,” Equius purrs, nuzzling into the back of your neck, and your matesprit is smart, you’ll give him that, because that tone of voice is Equius’s “I’m going to ask you to do something to me that I find lewd” voice and it _always_ gets your attention, but you _know_ what he’s doing and you’re not having it this time, you want to sleep in.

“Mmf.” You reply, eloquent as fuck, turning over and burying your face in your arms.

“Beloved, you need to get up. You’re going to ruin your sleep schedule again and be miserable if you don’t.”

You know he’s right. You know he is, but you just really don’t _care_ at the moment; you’re happily comfortable in the sopor and --

“HolyfuckingshitEquiusputme _down_ \--!” You shriek as he scoops you up like you weigh _nothing_ and _slings you over his shoulder_ and carries you into the ablutionsblock. You only stop wriggling out of fear of being dropped, because sopor is slippery as hell, and satisfy yourself slugging Equius in the shoulder once he sets you down in the shower. This, also, is a poor choice, and just leaves you with sore knuckles, “I hate you,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest and turning away from him.

“We’ll have two very disappointed kismesises on our hands then, I’m afraid,” Equius replies, and you regret the night that he ever figured out how to sass back at you, the jerk, “And I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed as well, beloved, seeing as I still feel nothing but the reddest pity for you,” he informs you, murmuring it in your ear as he reaches past you to turn the shower on.

...okay, really sweet, romantic jerk. Still a jerk. You pout, ignoring him as warm water sluices the sopor off of you and down the drain. Equius doesn’t seem to mind, as he just chuckles and kisses your cheek and leaves you to finish washing off. You huff and scrub off the rest of the sopor and wash your hair out because you still haven’t quite ever stopped feeling like you need to look at least mildly presentable for Lord Imoogi, and you doubt you ever will. 

There’s a clean towel hanging on the rack when you get out, and your paints are sitting on the counter by the sink. You snag one of Equius’ hair ties and pull your hair out of your way to paint up, and then stride out of the bathroom with nothing but your paints on because your uniform is currently scattered across Equius’ respite block. 

You wriggle back into your clothes because tempting as it is to watch Equius blush and stutter, he _does_ have to go on shift and you don’t want to make him have to change his uniform because he sweated through it. Or, well. Anything else. Remove the temptation, as it were. Admittedly, more for your sake than his.

Equius is still sitting on the couch when you come out of the respiteblock. You glance at the clock and frown. “You’re going to be late.”

“I know,” he tells you, and you resolutely _do not squeak_ as he draws you over to him and kisses you, “Now I’m going.”

By the time the door shuts you realize you’re smiling like an idiot, and Equius has somehow managed to get you to forgive him for the rude wake up without actually apologizing, the stupid, pitiful bastard.

You huff, and decide you have time to get a decent breakfast before Lord Imoogi expects you anywhere. Maybe you'll even show up early and surprise them for once.

...you doubt it, but there's a first time for everything, right?

**Author's Note:**

> ...look I never said I was good at titles, so sue me.


End file.
